


And In The Darkness Bind Them

by Willshebemina



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blindfolds, Handcuffs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Shapeshifting, some uncanny valley melkor transformation, totally definitely completely platonic and professional use of My Lord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-04 07:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willshebemina/pseuds/Willshebemina
Summary: “I have an idea”.Or: Melkor has an idea thatisn'tanother weapon of mass destruction.it’s a weapon of ass destruction





	And In The Darkness Bind Them

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not abandoning Honey, Honey, I just haven’t had time to write during the summer and I’m so unfamiliar with the story now that I have to reread it first in order to write more. 
> 
> This is just for fun and practice and was written pretty much in one go and has therefore not been edited. It spawned out of someone (idk who, i don’t remember) mentioning that there isn’t a fic called And In the Darkness Bind Them anywhere on ao3 ft. Angbang, so obviously someone had to write it. Obviously that person was me. 
> 
> Also I used the name mairon for sauron here because I love Melkor and Mairon being M&M. Eminem here, coming to you middle-earth with the sickest vala disstrack live from Angband
> 
> ALSO also, I know Melkor isn't the Vala (/god) of transformation, but that's just my own, fun little interpretation of it all. I mean, "powerful" isn't really a job description, right?

  Melkor had not the ability to create, only to transform. Though this made him understandably frustrated with those who possessed the ability which he lacked, Mairon rather thought that it made his “creations” all the better than those constructed by the children of Illuvatar or the other Valar. For once they made new inventions that functioned well, rarely did they consider it from all angles and say _how can we make this better? What more is there to it? What can we improve?_ Seeing his lord triumph over his lessers by way of his knowledge and his innovations made Mairon himself work all the harder, inspired by having the trust of such a being as he. But even better were the times when Melkor and he worked together to elevate and transform. Mairon could never tire of finding new angles to seemingly perfect things, and aiding his lord in doing so was such a pleasure it could hardly be called service.

  They created the earth; Melkor raised mountains. They created fire; Melkor created dragons. The eldar made weapons; Melkor and Mairon made them deadlier, better. The children tamed wolves; Mairon transformed and lorded over them.

  The eldar coupled to procreate and to express love; Melkor and Mairon took it to new heights. (Or lows, if one considered their acts immoral.)

 

  Whenever his lord said “ _I have an idea_ ”, it was exactly that—but whenever those words were said with the terrible fires behind his eyes glowing fiercer, or his voice dropped so low it could only be heard by Mairon it meant that Melkor wanted to find him in his bed without clothes and with an open mind. His only response would be a smile too small to see for anyone but his lord, an assurance that the message had been received. Of course, they needed no words to communicate anything, but a habit once formed was difficult to break.

 

  Though ainur did not need sleep, nor bodies, even, Melkor’s chambers contained the largest bed to be found in Angband. For though Mairon didn’t mind to be left with physical reminders of their encounters – on the contrary – he would rather have them be left by his lord’s hands rather than the tiling of the floor. It need not be said that comforts, though unnecessary, are just that— _comfortable_. Only the best reserved for the best, and such.

 

  As soon as Mairon stepped through the door to Melkor’s bedroom, his fingers began to remove his armour and clothing nearly by their own accord, so used to the motion that it felt only natural. He was as quick and efficient to undress as he was with everything else, neatly folding and putting his things away when finished. Next was his hair, which was nearly always done up for the sake of practicality, but both he and Melkor enjoyed it when he would run his fingers through it or grip it in his fist to drag his head back and leave his throat exposed. Once undone, his hair fell over his shoulders and down his naked back, soft against his skin.

  When first he had made himself a physical form he had doubted the use for it, doubted he would become attached to it, but it hadn’t taken long before he found that he had. To be able to shift his form to suit his mood, to strike fear into the hearts of both their subjects and their enemies with just his face, to be lavished with attention from his lord for the beauty of his form—all of them were things he had become almost attached to. That was a lie. He was attached. He was vain and he knew it, there was no point in pretending otherwise.

 Mairon walked toward the bed as if he still wore his regalia, back straight, chin raised, stride decisive. He sat on the edge of the bed as if it were a throne, with all the dignity of a king. For to him, it was. He locked his eyes on the doors and waited.

 He did not have to wait long. As soon as he heard the steps approaching outside, he turned his head to the side. Only when the doors opened and closed and the steps came closer did he again turn his eyes there. Melkor was still fully armoured and stood close to Mairon, so Mairon had to crane his neck even more than usual to meet his gaze. “My reliable lieutenant.”

   Mairon briefly inclined his head. “My lord. What thrilling ideas do you have to share with me this time?”

   Melkor grinned, wide and sharp-toothed. “Close your eyes.” Mairon did. “Hold out your hands.” He did that as well and immediately he felt something cold, hard and heavy drop into his hands. It felt metal. “Open them.”

   Shackles. Dungeon shackles. Mairon turned his head up and saw that Melkor also held a blindfold. He struggled not to sigh in disappointment. Really, what was so new about this? They used restraints practically every other time.

   “My lord, this is hardly innovative,” he said, in as professional a voice as he could muster.

   “Do you doubt me, Mairon?” He decided not to dignify that with an answer. “Well then, do you trust me?”

   “Of course.”

   “Then trust me. I do have an idea, but I would prefer it to be a surprise.”

  This time, Mairon did sigh, but he did also move to the head of the bed and stretched out his arms so that Melkor could bind them to the bedposts.Mairon rotated each wrist once, twice, to make sure they were secure. He could break them at any moment, of course, but that wasn’t the point—the _illusion_ was. Next was the blindfold. In all honesty, he could barely pretend that it limited his senses; even if his sight was diminished, he could hear Melkor’s every move, pinpoint the exact position of every limb, even in some way see his fëa.

  “Such a critic, Mairon. I haven’t even begun,” came the rumble of his lord’s voice, dark and close to his ear.

  “And what’s stopping you?”

  Melkor laughed low in his throat, his mouth so close to Mairon’s thorax that it reverberated through his chest, making a brief shudder run along his body. His lord must have willed his armour off by magic, for when Mairon felt him press down and against him, there was nothing between them. Melkor had positioned himself between Mairon’s legs, the lower half his torso flush with Mairon’s as of yet barely stirred sex. His upper body was supported by his elbows, though that didn’t stop his inklike hair from spilling over his shoulders and pool along Mairon’s chest, making it difficult not to twitch at every miniscule movement Melkor did as the brushes of his hair were light enough to tickle. But he could not stop himself from shuddering when Melkor curled his long, strong fingers around his right bicep, his sharp nails prickling at his skin, and lowered his head to move his lips along Mairon’s throat and jaw. His other hand trailed up and down his side, fingertips barely grazing his skin. He flicked his thumb over the stiff bud of the nipple, worrying Mairon’s jugular with his teeth all the while.

  “As pleasant as this is, my lord—,” his breath hitched as Melkor tugged at his nipple while he trailed his tongue up his neck and towards his ear, “—I hardly think _teasing_ can be considered groundbreaking.” He stilled the urge to wince as Melkor pressed his nails so hard into his skin that it broke and he felt tiny beads of blood running down his arm and the skin around his pectoral to land on the sheet. Just as easily as it broke did it heal when Melkor let up the pressure, the tiny punctures closing up without leaving behind a trace.

  “I could gag you, you know.” He uncurled his left hand and moved downwards, dragging his nails along Mairon’s torso as he did.

  “Don’t lie to yourself, you love the challenge.”

  “Rather, I love to prove that you’re wrong.” Then he said nothing more as his head travelled over Mairon’s shaft, that had at least begun to rise to attention, despite his lord’s lazy display. Melkor paid that part of his lieutenant no mind, instead stopping once he was at eye level with Mairon’s entrance. He grabbed Mairon by his thighs and raised his legs up and apart before wrapping his hands around them to stabilise himself. Melkor kissed and licked at the skin of his inner thigh before he started to suck at the skin and bite it, leaving behind a round bruise before doing the same to the next thigh. Once he left a mark at the skin there as well, he trailed his tongue down long the thigh and Mairon’s arse, before laying his tongue flat against the rim. Mairon let out a long sigh at the touch. The skin there was so sensitive that Melkor only resting his tongue there was pleasing enough in itself, the coldness of Melkor’s tongue a shock to the flush skin. Melkor circled his tongue around the rim, toying by beginning to dip inside only to immediately pull back and continue to circle it again, before finally pressing his face into Mairon’s groin and dive his tongue in as deeply as he could. Mairon yanked at the shackles with the sudden act and even groaned in appreciation. But that soon grew boring as well, as nothing else happened other than his lord pumping his tongue in and out and against his inner walls.

  “Will you get to the point within the next century?” Mairon said. Melkor would have laughed had his mouth not been full—instead his chuckles vibrated throughout Mairon’s body.

  Mairon hardly noticed the change at first. It felt as if nothing had happened at all, before Melkor’s tongue was replaced he was quickly filled with inch by inch of something just as warm, but that almost seemed to pulsate. He shrieked in surprise – a highly pitched, unholy sound beyond the capabilities of Eru’s children – and tore his left hand forward, ripping the shackle from its chain in the process. Splinters flew from the post where the metal ripped into the wood and landed across them both, though they turned to smoke in the air before they could land.

  “ _What was that?_ ” he demanded, voice still as shrill as nails while somehow echoing the meowing growl of a feline beast. Mairon used his free hand to rip of the blindfold, throwing it to the floor. This, too, caught fire at his will and joined the splinters more tendrils of smoke to curl above his head. “What was that?” his voice was back to its usual pitch, but still as fierce. As sight was returned to him he saw that Melkor hadn’t removed himself from him, which he hadn’t registered in his shock—until now, as Melkor drew away to push himself up on his hands, one on either side of Mairon’s hips.

  “What’s that, Mairon?” he asked, face splitting to a grin. It really was _splitting,_ because Mairon could see it growing wider and saw his teeth become sharper. Not enough to be anything close to what it was when he wore his monstrous form, but still an obvious change. His nails became longer, sharpening and thickening into claws, tearing into the bedding beneath them. Then, just like that, they change was undone; his grin was naturally wide, his teeth straight, his claws gone. “Am I not creative enough for you?”

  Mairon’s breath hitched. “You’ve—you have figure out how to transform only parts of you?” The thought had occurred to him, but whenever he tried he barely got any results to show for it and it required immense concentration. Either Melkor had taken the trial to learn it upon himself, or he had thought of something which Mairon had not.

  “You forget I’m the god of transformation,” Melkor said. “I can look how I damn well please.” Mairon could not help but laugh at that.

  “So that was…” since he did not remove his mouth before the sudden change or Mairon’s removal of the blindfold, and going by the feel of it, it could only have been, “… your tongue?”

“Was it unpleasant?”

Strangely enough… “No.” A beat. “You may continue.”

Melkor’s smile turned sly as his eyes narrowed. “Oh, I  _ may.  _ How gracious of you, my faithful lieutenant.”

“I live to serve.”

For that cheek, Melkor made his teeth sharp and bit into Mairon’s thigh before continuing what he had begun. This time the change wasn’t instantaneous, but gradual. It was similar to how it felt when Melkor would join them, inch by inch, despite pleas to  _ get on with it _ ; it was the feeling of being slowly parted, slowly filled, by a foreign and familiar heat. 

  Though that was where the similarities ended. Whereas a cock was always a constant in shape and where the pressure inside him was put depended on how one moved, a tongue felt like a separate creature entirely. It was easier to control and thus easier to move. The variation in movement, along with the image Mairon thought up of what it must  _ look  _ like—it was intoxicating. 

  His breathing began to grow laboured and he strained to keep himself from keening when Melkor twisted his tongue just so, reaching further and further. Mairon crossed his ankles behind Melkor’s back and dug his heels in.  Just then, the tongue inside him started to press on the spot inside him that made him suddenly arch his back as a gasp tore its way out of his throat. The remaining shackle gave way as well, going much about the same way as the other had although he used his free hand just to claw at the bed. The sensations he felt increased tenfold in that movement and they didn’t relent even after the initial shock, drawing Mairon closer and closer towards climax. His sharp nails began to tear at the sheets, drawing long gashes in them that, unlike the ones put on Mairon, remained torn. 

  Melkor looked up, tongue staying put when his mouth did not—just so Mairon could see him flash a smug smile his way, eyes narrow as they were in victory. His face radiated smugness not only from his expression, but from his thoughts as they touched Mairon’s. 

  “Oh, shut up,” Mairon sneered, fisting Melkor’s hair and forcing his head back down. Melkor didn’t protest – he had won, after all – except to dig his nails in harder. But sting of pain only added to the pleasure. Mairon’s breathing grew heavier and heavier and his thoughts more muddled. It became harder to stay still and he pushed his heels and tugged at Melkor’s hair hard enough to cause harm. 

  At last, with a final push from the writhing, cursed  _ thing  _ inside him, Mairon came. White stars exploded behind his eyes and he  **screamed** . 

 

  When he had gathered his bearings, Melkor laid beside him, pushed up on an elbow and was leisurely stroking Mairon’s hair.

  “Satisfied?” 

  Mairon peered up at his lord and curled his lips in thought. He hummed and Melkor arched a brow. 

  “Well?”

  “Solid performance,” Mairon acquiesced. “Your mediocre foreplay—,” Melkor made a protesting  _ tsk _ , “—brought down the overall score, but the finish made up for it.” He grinned. “You will have to teach me to do that, sometime.”

  Melkor let go of his hair to lean over Mairon, one leg between his, their faces just an inch apart. 

  “Make it worth my while and maybe I will,” he said. Mairon’s grin turned into a subdued smile. He caresses Melkor’s arm with featherlight fingertips, before gripping on tight and throwing Melkor to the side, quickly straddling his hips and pressing his forearm against his throat. 

  “Is that a challenge?”

**Author's Note:**

> The reason I can only write rimming when writing m/m sex is because my funky little lesbian brain said “hey that’s basically the gay version of cunnilingus, right? that shouldn’t be too hard. also you don’t have to mention testicles, yay!”
> 
> oh shit, i should've just made this a cisswap story instead, right? fuck, i'm dumb


End file.
